All My Brew
by Darthpeter10
Summary: Kink Meme fic, staring Prosecutor Godot! Multi-part chain fiction I found on the net, so credit goes to Anonymous. Rated M for lemons and kinks! Sounds a lot better than it is! Original link- Image for the fic - eg?958312
1. Chapter 1: Adrian Andrews

Adrian's legs wrapped around his hips, the pressure of her thighs and the pulling of her calves forcing him in deeper with every thrust. Her voice had been rising with every breath over the past several minutes, until she was nearly screaming every time she exhaled.

She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, and he grunted in satisfaction down at her. Her eyes had been squeezed shut the whole time, but when he grunted she opened one, just to peek. When she saw him looking back down at her she flushed (he assumed) and stammered wordlessly before falling back into a much quieter gasping. She had gotten wetter, though.

"Talk to me," she said after a minute.

"What do you like?" he asked her, as if reading off of a cheat sheet. "How do you like your men?"

Her eyes went huge and round and her breath stopped coming altogether until he thrust once hard enough to knock the bed's frame against the wall and she moaned the breath out between barely parted lips.

"How do you like your men?" he said again, leaning down and looking her in the face so he could see the lines of light from his visor reflected on her. "Do you like a little danger?"

"May...maybe!" But there was no maybe to it, not in the way she clenched and then angled her hips, the way she wiped at her glasses with her fingertips when they fogged up from his breath (only God knew why she was still wearing them) and reached up and kissed him on the mouth, an intimate but timid action like a child stealing her first. He didn't laugh, but holding it back was hard.

"Okay," he said, still looking down at her as he reached over to the bedside lamp, the only source of light in the room. "Let's see how dangerous you like it."

The lamp clicked and the light went out, until the only illumination was from the lines of his mask. He looked down at her face as she first panicked, then stared... and then grabbed onto him and bit him on the neck, pulling him down and forcing him into her even harder.

And she started to scream in earnest. Well, fine, he liked screamers.


	2. Chapter 2: Fransiska Von Karma

He had assumed that fucking Franziska von Karma would be heated, sweaty, and violent. He had been wrong, but not in principle: he had only been wrong in degree. He had expected growling and yowling and clawing.

This was like fucking a puma.

She dug into the bedspread with her fingernails, even her toes, every time he thrust into her, growling as if pained but refusing him when he offered to stop, or fuck her in any position except for doggy-style. So he kept going, and she kept pushing back and growling and clawing at his sheets.

"Foolish fool of a man!" she said, "Are you a man or just a fool who foolishly claims to be one? Put your weight into it!"

"Ha! Careful what you ask for, filly!"

He threw all the force in his hips into the next thrust and she rocked forward, her breasts dragging across the top sheet, and the growl she let out was more like a whimper. Then the next one came, and the next, and the next, each as hard as the last, and though she was still squirming and clawing she had stopped growling altogether, biting her lower lip to hold back whatever sound would have come out otherwise.

"This enough for you?" he said, but his tone carried all the knowledge he had that yes, it most certainly was enough, but there was more where it came from if she needed it.

"Y-e-e-e-e-s" she said, the vowel drawn out every time he thrust into her, and then she growled and looked back at him. "No, fool! It's not enough yet! The audacity of a fool like you thinking tha-"

His hand came down on her ass with a loud, firm smack, and she yelped before turning the same color as the hand print on her behind. There was a long moment of silence before she looked back at him.

"Take of your mask," she said, biting her lip again.

He reached up and took it off, setting it aside - now he couldn't see a damn thing.

"Now what?"

"Look at me, fool!"

He complied as best he could, turning a pair of essentially blind but otherwise perfectly good, brown eyes on the direction of her voice. When he did her entire body clenched. Her voice came out carried on gasps and in his mind he could see the shape of her mouth.

"Oooo! Ooo! Oo!"

Not so much like a puma when she came, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3: Desiree Delite

He pressed Desiree Delite's back into the wall and she squealed like a tire peeling out against concrete, raking her nails across his back so hard it nearly drew blood. He had intended to stand and deliver, but when she wrapped her legs around his torso and sank her teeth into his shoulder it became apparent she intended to ride him like her bike. Sex standing up wasn't just a position, it was an extreme sport.

"Again!" she said, and her voice was a scream that could match her husband's.

He pressed her against the wall again, in time with a thrust. He was supporting her weight with his hands, digging his fingers into the flesh of her ass, and the harder he squeezed the more she squealed.

"Again! Harder!" She dug her nails into his scalp and looked him in the face and he could see how hungry she was, hungry unlike any other woman he had ever seen.

So he slammed her up against the wall this time, driving in so deep he could have gotten lost, lifting her up higher into the air just with the motion of his hips.

"YES!" She threw back her head and her hair flew everywhere and he did it again, so hard he thought he was going to crack the dry wall. She screamed and grabbed him by the hair with one hand, ripping off his visor with the other. He did not protest as she threw it aside, leaving him blind, and he did not protest when she pulled his face down against the tops of her breasts, cutting off his air.

"Faster!" she screamed, and when he picked up the tempo she screamed again, he thought she was having an orgasm right there, but she kept screaming, "Faster! Faster! Faster! Faster! FASTER!"

He went faster, and faster, and faster, until the muscles and joints of his hips were like well-oiled pistons in a combustion engine, going with such speed that it shouldn't have been possible to keep it up for more than a few seconds. She was wet, wet enough that there was no friction where the important bits touched, but he heard a very faint scraping, and a buildup of heat right above his-

More out of sudden alarm than need for breath he lifted his face up. He couldn't look at her, but he could tell she was looking at him. He didn't slow down yet, though, wouldn't until she either finished or said to.

"I smell burning hair," he said, because it occurred to him that he did.

"That means, Mr. Godot," she said with a purr as she leaned in close and nipped at his ear, and then she shoved his face back down into her breasts, "you're doing it riiiiiiight!"


	4. Chapter 4: Lana Skye

Taking a girl out to eat was one of his more reliable methods of getting into a girl's pants; taking time to eat a girl out, though, was one of his more reliable methods for taking a break, and at the moment he needed it. He could feel an ache building in the root of his groin, distant and remote but very real, and it was going to get worse if he didn't pace himself.

Lana Skye was more than willing to comply, of course. She hadn't said much since he had gotten started - just told him to hike her skirt up, because she had wanted to do this with her clothes on (probably for the same reason she had him tie her hands behind her back), and then gave him direction where necessary.

Directions hadn't been necessary for long: every woman's body was unique, its own particular country with its hills and valleys, but in his time he had become quite the cartographer. She was ticklish, but not so much that his stubble bothered her: if anything, it only made her more sensitive. The motion of his tongue and the caresses of his lips were regular and firm and confident, teasing out whatever gasps he could manage to get. She was very quiet when she wanted to be, and it seemed he hadn't found the right buttons to override that yet. Still, persistence usually paid-

She lifted her hips and pressed herself against his mouth, squeezing her thighs on either side of his head as he traced circles around her clit with his tongue. He watched her face, too, the line of her jaw growing taut, her eyes squeezed shut - and then they flew open.

"Stop, stop, stop," she said, and he did. She released her thighs and he lifted his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. She recovered fast, faster than almost anyone he had ever seen. Her composure was unflappable, in spite of the fact that her hands were tied behind her back, her skirt was up around her waist, and she wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Should I get down to business?" he asked, all formality except for the grin that he couldn't hold back. Here was someone he could really enjoy himself with.

"Yes, Mr. Armando, I believe you should." She looked around for a moment, her expression cool and her eyes calculating, before looking down at the red scarf hanging around her neck. "Keep it up for as long as you're able. Use my scarf to fashion a gag for me. I would prefer it with the mask off, if you don't mind. And..." Her eyes went toward the nightstand, and his followed.

She had brought a hat with her. It was brown, made of felt, and looked like something out of one of John Wayne's worse pictures.

He stared at the hat for a moment.

"Look, I'm fine with going without the mask and I'm fine with the kinky stuff, but if you want me to wear the hat it'll c-"

"Just do it!"


	5. Chapter 5: Lotta Hart

"Oooooo-wee!"

Lotta Hart was two parts stereotype and one part buck wild crazy in the sack, a woman of such tremendous vitality and energy that the only way to understand it would be to be in his position: on your back, looking at the curve of her hips and shoulders as she rode him reverse cowgirl. Her hair was huge and spherical with a texture like sponge cake and a color like brick. He couldn't see the red, so she looked kind of like a gigantic vanilla ice cream cone.

He had never been so unnerved in his life.

She was good, though, good in a way few women were: when she got on top of him she let go entirely, becoming an engine of motion and slickness and friction, grinding at him and playing with his testicles with the kind of wild abandon a woman learned in very few environments. He had been grateful that she liked the cowgirl position because it would give him a break, but now he found himself rising to meet her when she came down, and when she hollered he couldn't help grinning.

"Oooo, don't you think I forgot about you, now!"

She spun on top of him without rising, angled so perfectly that she didn't twist anything, but for one brief second he was afraid he would hear a crack and then be hurting very, very badly. When she turned her breasts swung freely, and his eyes followed the curves of her body all the way down. She was a beautiful woman, as much as she hid it beneath her bulky clothes-

And her pubic hair was the same color, texture, and shape as the hair on her head. It was like a tiny explosion of cotton candy. He was glad she couldn't see his eyes.

"Now," she said, leaning down towards him until her nipples brushed lightly against his chest, eyes narrowed and mouth open in a huge grin, "I think Mama Lotta's gonna take what she wants. You just call me that. Got it?"

It took a second for it to click, but he got it. "Yeah, Mama Lotta." He slipped into a drawl matching hers. He didn't mean to. He couldn't help it. "What's Mama Lotta want?"

She leaned down, and his vision left him as she lifted the mask from his eyes. Then her mouth was against his, lips forming a seal between which their tongues danced and caressed one another - and she broke it off. He could hear her licking her lips.

"Mm-mm, don't you taste good. Well, fancy boy, let me tell you." She leaned in close again, mouth against his ear, and her voice was low and husky and maybe the most sexually charged sound he had ever heard. "Mama Lotta's gonna take this pretty boy here and make him make some nice sounds."

He must have shown his shock on his face, because she laughed, and then they got going again.

Mama Lotta got what she wanted.


	6. Chapter 6: Little Plum Kitaki

Little Plum Kitaki was a woman of appetites. Some of them were easy to tell just from looking at her: she loved good food and knew how to make it, so those appetites she could fulfill for herself. Others were easy to tell from talking to her: she loved culture and the arts, and she was able to fulfill these by immersing herself in the city around her. Some, though, one could only know as a man might know a woman: that was how he was learning her appetites, now, and wondering whether or not he could fulfill them entirely.

She was lying on her back at the edge of the bed, her legs propped at his shoulders as he stood to deliver. The rhythm was slow and steady and forceful - it was the best he could do for now, but it was what she responded to best anyway, angled just enough to hit her sweet spots.

As women her size went, she was beautiful: her skin was the color of cream and the texture of it was smooth and full. On her back, gravity pulled her breasts down and apart, giving a nice sense of their heft as she idly played with them. Her eyes were closed, her lips compressed as she squirmed. She was a strong woman, a lot moreso than she looked, so he watched her very carefully in case a reaction of hers should break something of his. Any appearance of vulnerability in this woman was an illusion only perpetuated because she allowed it to be.

"All right," she said, "stop for a minute." He did, pulling out on command, and took a step back as she sat up. Plum Kitaki was a woman to be shown deference, even in a situation like this one. "Come here a moment, I have something else to show you."

He sat beside her on the bed. "What is it, Little Plum?"

When he said her name she looked up at him and smiled and leaned over and smelled his shoulder. For some reason it sent a tingle running through his skin.

"You smell nice. Here, look," she said, reaching over to her folded kimono and drawing out of it a small reed tube, about six inches long and as big around as one of his fingers, too small to be a sex toy for someone of her experience. He hoped. She turned it over in her hands. "This is something that I have learned to cultivate over a very long period of time. It adds much to the pleasure experienced by a man and a woman. Would you like to see its use?"

"I would," because his curiosity demanded it.

She twisted the reed, and out of it she slide a knife, long and thin and appearing sharp enough to slice through silk.

He looked at the knife. She looked at him. She grinned.

"What's the matter, loverboy? You've never done any knife play?"

"Oh Hell."

"Get over here and let's pop that cherry! WAH HA HA HA HA HA!"


	7. Chapter 7: Lisa Basil

In the darkness, he could hear Wright's voice: even at the furthest depths, there was always that.

"Armando." It seemed to come from very far away. "Armando!"

"Yeah?" he asked, shifting in his seated position on the couch, repositioning the cold pack that he had wrapped in a towel before resting it gently next to his testicles. "What's up, boss?"

"Are you telling me you couldn't make it through one day without blowing a gasket?"

He lifted one hand to give Wright the bird, but he couldn't see where he was.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Pushed too hard. Feels like I had a heart attack. Could you get me some coffee?"

"Yeah, I'll go put on a pot."

His footsteps receded, then returned.

"Is that all that happened? You just pushed too hard?"

"Yeah."

"Where's your client?"

"The blue lady?"

"Yeah. Lisa Basil."

"She was there when it happened."

Wright hissed between his teeth. "Armando, I'll have to refund the time that didn't get filled out."

"She's using it up," he said. "I was in her when I basically collapsed. She took my mask. Lot of people have been taking my mask today. Anyway, from what I could hear, she was masturbating with it. She's still in there."

"...Oh. Heh."

"That's what happened: I nearly collapsed, she took my mask, I staggered in here, got an ice pack, and collapsed on the couch. I do not remember getting dressed, so I am pretty sure I am naked." He shifted enough to rub his skin against the fabric of the couch. "Yes. Yes, I am naked. And if I don't have some coffee in a few minutes I think I'm going to go into some kind of shock."

"You'll have it."

"How much did I make today?"

"Lemme check." His footsteps retreated and returned again, and Armando could hear paper being flipped off of a clipboard. "An hour with Andrew, two with von Karma, an hour with Delite, two with Skye," he nearly choked on his own spit, "four hours with Lotta Hart?"

"Sounds about right, yeah. She paid up front, but I didn't count it."

"An hour with Kitaki, and... I guess an hour with Basil."

"What's it come to?"

"All told, uh... your cut's about three grand."

"Ha! Maybe I should just buy out the Wright Anything agency, Trite."

Wright's voice was a mutter, but he heard it anyway. "At this rate you probably could. I'll go get the coffee." He took a step away, then stopped. "Hey, you know what this makes me?"

"Trite, if you say it makes you my pimp I'm going to break every bone in your god damned body."

"...Nevermind." He left to get the coffee.


End file.
